The Helen Bianchin And The Regency Scoundrels And Scandals Collections. Louise Allen
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was reclining in bed, his upper body propped up on one elbow, looking, she perceived wryly, exactly what he was…one very sexy and dangerous man.
She was suddenly supremely conscious of the large T-shirt whose hemline fell to mid-thigh, her tumbled hair and freshly scrubbed face.
The antithesis of glamour. Alicia, or any one of the many women who had shared his bed, would have elected to wear something barely-there, probably transparent, in black or scarlet. Provocative, titillating, and guaranteed to raise a certain part of the male anatomy.
Except she wasn’t here to provoke or titillate, and she slid beneath the covers, settled them in place, then turned her head to look at him.
He lifted a hand and trailed fingers across her cheek, then threaded his fingers through her hair.
He traced the delicate skin beneath her ear, then circled the hollow at the base of her neck as he fastened his mouth over hers.
She told herself she was in control, that this was just physical pleasure without any emotional involvement.
Only to stifle a groan in despair as his hand slid down her body to rest on her thigh.
How could she succumb so easily? It galled her to think she’d been on tenterhooks all evening, waiting for this moment, wanting it.
His tongue tangled with hers in an erotic dance as she began to respond. Her T-shirt no longer provided a barrier, and she exulted in the glide of his hands as he moulded her body close to his.
Diego rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, and he eased her against the cradle of his thighs, then shaped her breasts, weighing them gently as he caressed the sensitive skin.
Their peaks hardened beneath his touch, and the breath hissed between her teeth as he rolled each nub between thumb and forefinger, creating a friction that sent sensation soaring through her body.
With care he eased her forward to savour each peak in turn, and she cried out as he took her to the edge between pleasure and pain.
His arousal was a potent force, and he settled her against its thickened length, creating a movement that had the breath hitching in her throat.
Cassandra felt as if she was on fire, caught up in the passion he was able to evoke, rendering everything to a primitive level as he positioned her to accept him in a long, slow slide that filled her to the hilt.
Then he began to move, gently at first, governing her body to create a timeless rhythm that started slow and increased in depth and pace until she became lost, totally. Unaware of the sounds she uttered as she became caught up in the eroticism of scaling the heights, only to be held at the edge…and caught as she fell.
IT WAS early when Cassandra stirred into wakefulness, the dawn providing a dull light filtering through the drapes, and she lay there quietly for a while before slipping from the bed.
With slow, careful movements she collected her bag and trod quietly from the room, choosing to dress at the end of the hallway before descending the stairs to the kitchen, where she spooned ground coffee into the coffee maker, filled the carafe with water, then switched it on.
When it filtered, she took down a mug and filled it, added sugar, and carried it out onto the terrace.
A new day, she mused, noting the glistening dew. The sun was just lifting above the horizon, lightening the sky to a pale azure, and there was the faint chirping of birds in nearby trees.
It was peaceful at this hour of the morning. Nothing much stirred. There wasn’t so much as a breeze, and no craft moved in the harbour.
‘You’re awake early,’ Diego drawled from the open doorway, and she turned to look at him.
He was something else. Tousled dark hair, hastily donned jeans barely snapped, bare-chested, nothing on his feet…gone was the sophisticated image, instead there was something primitive about his stance.
‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
Diego effected a faint shrug. ‘I woke as you left the room.’
The memory of what they’d shared through the night was hauntingly vivid, and she swallowed the faint lump that rose in her throat. ‘I’d like to leave soon. I have a few things to do, and I need to spend time with my father.’
‘I’ll start breakfast.’
‘No. Please don’t on my account. I’ll just finish my coffee, then I’ll get my bag.’
Suiting words to action, she drained the mug, then she moved through the house to the front door, collected her bag, and turned to say goodbye.
He was close, and she was unprepared for the brief hard kiss he pressed against her mouth.
Cassandra wasn’t capable of uttering a word as he opened the door, and she moved quickly down to her car, slipped in behind the wheel, fired the engine, then she eased the Porsche down the driveway.
There were the usual household chores, and she spent time checking her electronic mail before leaving to visit her father.
His increasing frailty concerned her, and she didn’t stay long. He needed to rest, and she conferred with Cameron as to who would contact Alexander’s cardiologist.
An early night was on the agenda, and she slept well, waking at the sound of the alarm to rise and face the day.
An early-morning meeting to review the week’s agenda, assess supplies and prioritise work took place within minutes of her arrival, then she took position at her workspace and adjusted the binocular microscope to her satisfaction.
It was almost midday when her cellphone buzzed, signalling an incoming text message, and she retrieved it to smile with delight at the printed text. ‘home, dinner when, news. Siobhan’
For those with minimum spare time and a tight schedule, text messaging provided easy communication. Brief, Cassandra grinned as she keyed in a response, but efficient.
Within minutes they’d organised a time and place to meet that evening.
Suddenly the day seemed brighter, and she found herself humming lightly beneath her breath as she adjusted a magnification instrument, then transferred to a correction loupe. Using a calliper, she focused on the intricate work in hand.
It was almost seven when Cassandra stepped into the trendy café. Superb food, excellent service, it was so popular bookings needed to be made in advance.
A waiter showed her to a table, and she ordered mineral water, then perused the menu while she waited for Siobhan to arrive.
She was able to tell the moment Siobhan entered the café. Almost in unison every male head turned towards the door, and everything seemed to stop for a few seconds.
Cassandra sank back in her chair and watched the effect, offering a quizzical smile as Siobhan extended an affectionate greeting.
‘Cassy, sorry I’m late. Parking was a bitch.’
Very few people shortened her name, except Siobhan who used it as an endearment and fiercely corrected anyone who thought to follow her example.
The clothes, the long blonde flowing hair, exquisite but minimum make-up, the perfume. Genes, Siobhan blithely accorded, whenever anyone enviously queried how she managed to look the way she did. One of the top modelling agencies had snapped her up at fifteen, and she was treading the international catwalks in Rome, Milan and Paris two years later.
Yet for all the fame and fortune, none of it had gone to her head. On occasion she played the expected part, acquiring as she termed it, the model persona.
Together, they’d shared private schools and formed a friendship bond that was as true now as it had been then.
Siobhan